


Helping hand

by aseriesofessays



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friendship, Insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 02:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6355735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofessays/pseuds/aseriesofessays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire hasn't slept in about four days and his friends (Enjolras) take it upon themselves to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Les Mis fic, and it probably shows.

 

Grantaire would be both the first and the last to admit he has a problem, depending on the time of day and who he's talking to. (Well, no, that's not quite true- Joly exists and he's always the first to admit someone has a problem.)

But right now he's going on his fourth day without sleep, and he's probably acting like he's drunk (or high) even though he's _not_ \- his hands are trembling and he feels nauseous and he keeps losing time, which is disconcerting. (He doesn't remember how he got from his flat to the cafe, or walking up the stairs to the meeting room.) He tries to hold an argument with Enjolras but forgets what he's talking about halfway through.

"R," says Combeferre softly, nudging his shoulder, and Grantaire pulls his eyes away from where they're fixed on the wall. He blinks, hard.

"What?"

"You've been staring at the wall for, like, five minutes," butts in Courfeyrac helpfully, "and we thought you were going to make another point but you just kept staring."

"Oh," he mumbles, and rubs at his eyes. "Sorry."

"No, it's... fine," says Combeferre- he's exchanging an unreadable look with someone over Grantaire's head, he doesn't know who. "When's the last time you slept?"

Grantaire blinks at him. "What?"

"How long's it been since you had a full night of sleep?" he repeats patiently. Grantaire opens his mouth to answer, but he suddenly has no idea what the answer is. He slept four nights ago, but the last time he had a full night of sleep...

Courfeyrac pokes him, and he winces when he realizes he lapsed into his own thought again.

"Um. Dunno." He yawns, goes to run a hand through his hair and jumps when he realizes he has a beanie on. Whoops. He's exhausted.

There's a whispered conversation that he's entirely missing, and suddenly Enjolras is pushed forward. He's glaring his mission glare.

"Right, I'm taking you home."

Grantaire has no idea if he's supposed to be protesting or not- probably yes, because he doesn't think the meeting's over. He shakes his head, hard, trying to clear up his mind.

"Wha'- no, I'm fine, I-"

Enjolras ignores him, grabbing his arm and propelling him towards the door. Grantaire trips over his own feet before he can really get his bearing, and Enjolras steadies him without looking at him once.

"How'd you get here?"

Grantaire stares blankly. Enjolras sighs sharply. "Grantaire. Wake up. How'd you get here?"

"No idea," Grantaire tells him truthfully.

Enjolras has a car, thank god. Grantaire sort of tips himself into the passenger seat, fumbles with the clasp for maybe a minute. He dozes off on the way back to his flat, and it's only on the stairs up that he realizes just how much of a mess that it is.

"'S okay, I can make it from here," he mumbles, shooing at Enjolras. He raises an eyebrow.

"You're going to fall down the stairs.

"'S'not that bad," Grantaire says unconvincingly, and then proceeds to almost fall down the stairs. Enjolras gives him a slightly frazzled smug look.

"How do you even get like this?"

Grantaire almost actually tells him, but catches himself just in time. Probably telling him about his clinical depression, chronic insomnia, and general issues wouldn't get him past the first date.

He giggles. Enjolras gives him a weird look.

"Do you have a key?"

Grantaire considers that, pats at his pockets, and wonders with vague concern where he put it. "Um. No. Check under the plant, maybe."

There's a plant outside Grantaire's door, for some reason. It smells bad but he's never found cause to move it. Enjolras checks under it.

"There isn't a key."

"Oh," says Grantaire. "Do you have a credit card?"

He manages to pick the lock on his own flat while mostly asleep, and he'd like to imagine Enjolras looks at him with a little more respect.

Everything, he realizes with vague horror, is even messier than he'd thought. There's a paint can right inside the door that Enjolras narrowly avoids putting his foot in, and a canvas a pace ahead covered in something the looks distressingly like blood. It's paint, probably, but Grantaire still gives it a wide berth.

"You can go now," he mumbles, fully intending to drink until he passes out, but Enjolras is already frowning at him.

"Jesus, Grantaire-" He opens his mouth to say more, but apparently can't find the words. Nice.

Grantaire's probably pouting like a five year old but he can excuse himself because Enjolras isn't leaving his flat. And his flat is a paint splattered dump which smells of alcohol, so it's embarrassing.

"Where's your bedroom?"

Grantaire chokes a little, and Enjolras flushes slightly. "I just want to make sure you get to bed-"

"I'm okay," Grantaire says, feeling distinctly not okay, and then he falls over.

Which.

Embarrassing.

He's aware of Enjolras berating at him before much else, probably because it's such a familiar sound. " _Christ_ , Grantaire, can't you just take care of yourself for once, you look like shit and you _can't just pass out all over the place_ what am I supposed to _do_ , you actual _idiot_ , how long's it been since you slept, how long's it been since you've _eaten_ , you're going to just die one day and then where will we be-"

"'M sorry," mutters Grantaire, yawning, and then he realizes that he's in bed. "How'd I-"

"I carried you," hisses Enjolras, "because you passed out."

"Oops," he says succinctly. Maybe he should sleep. (Although that's implying that he hasn't been sleeping on purpose, even though he's definitely been trying.)

He moans pitifully. "Don't feel good."

Enjolras's expression shifts from avenging angel to distress. "Combeferre should have taken you home, I don't know what I'm to _do_ -"

Grantaire feels his stomach lurch, and tunes him out to focus on keeping whatever remains in his stomach inside. He wants to sleep. Oh, god, he wants to sleep.

His eyes slide shut almost against his will, and there's someone rubbing his shoulder- stiffly, uncomfortably, but someone warm and _there_ \- and it looks like he won't be needing the alcohol tonight.

Not something he's said in a while.

\---

He wakes up feeling slightly less horrible than normal, which is nice. It's dark, which means it's either three in the morning or he remembered to close the blinds. The last couple days are a blur.

He stumbles to his feet after ten minutes of just lying there, makes his way into the kitchen, and there's something pinned to his fridge with a magnet shaped like the tricolor flag of France.

"I found your key on your bedside table, by the way, and locked the door behind me. -E."

Grantaire finds himself grinning. Does Enjolras just carry around fridge magnets?

He checks the time- 4 am, which means he slept about twelve hours. Impressive.

Now he actually needs to eat. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at lesgrandtears.tumblr.com if u care abt that


End file.
